


Comedy

by TheGoodDoctor



Series: Group Targets [24]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoodDoctor/pseuds/TheGoodDoctor
Summary: Fame.I wanna live forever.





	

James leans back in his seat. It's all carefully-crafted ease; the leg over the knee, the hands behind the head, the casual occupation of space.

The interviewer is forced to lean in just to maintain standard conversational etiquette. “So,” she says eagerly. “Tell us all about your new movie.”

James laughs, low and rumbly. Gareth, behind the camera, rolls his eyes. He can already hear teenage hearts breaking. “Oh, that old thing,” he says, emphasising his British accent subtly. “It's not bad.”

The interviewer swoons slightly and Gareth has to suppress a snort. “Well, what do  _ you _ want to talk about? Anyone special in your life?”

James grins at her. Gareth sighs quietly as the interviewer’s eyes become rounder than saucers. “Maybe,” he says.

She squeals. “Do tell!”

“I met them at a premiere,” James says, leaning in.

“A fan?” she says, echoing his pose.

James chuckles. “I hope so. I didn't get a chance to tell them how I felt on the night, though.”

The interviewer gasps. “Is this a callout?”

James nods, and looks directly down the camera. “Yes. If I spoke to you at the premiere of Only Strings, and flirted a bit, please get in touch.” He makes eye contact with Gareth, who shakes his head at him, sending frantic, hopeful mental signals for him to bail from this plan immediately. “In fact,” James says, grinning, “Call this line direct.” He reels off Gareth’s number, barely hiding a bright grin at his own hilarity.

Gareth sighs. His phone begins to vibrate angrily in his pocket, and he internally debates the merits of punching an Oscar-winning actor in the face on live TV while the interviewer gushes.

* * *

Eve leans back in her seat, arms folded and lips pursed. Her guest doesn't really seem to take the hint; from her, or her unresponsive studio audience.

The poor bugger really isn't funny. Though he is a politician, he seems to have decided that comedy is the way forward, and in particular, bad comedy. He hasn't raised a single laugh,  though he is clearly trying.

“I mean, you, for example,” he says, gesturing to Eve somewhat desperately. She neither can nor will save him from this. Her only course of action is to cut and run. “When I was your age, a black woman with a talk show was unthinkable! But now-”

“Now you can hardly make us shut up, huh?” Eve says pleasantly - pleasantly enough to put him off-guard.

He responds to her tone, not her words. “Yeah, sure - I, I mean-”

Eve leans in to pat him on the shoulder as her audience bristles. They clearly hadn't liked him, but now they had been given something concrete upon which to hang their dislike. “Mr Green, everyone. Quit whilst you're ahead: go back in time, and just don't come on the show.” That actually raises a laugh and he flushes a dark, angry red.

“Listen here, missy, you don't just get to tell-”

“I think you'll find that I do just get to tell,” Eve says mildly. “I am a black woman with a talk show, after all. This is my damn talk show.”

* * *

Gareth leans back in his office chair, and considers beating James to death with his nigh-constantly vibrating phone, before beating said phone to death with a cricket bat, coating it and the corpse in concrete and dropping it in a lake.

It certainly has merits.

He throws it across his office instead and nearly takes out James’ second BAFTA. 

Would serve him bloody right, and all.

* * *

Q leans back against the side of the set, surveying his domain. “No,” he says thoughtfully. “More left? There. Move the light just...so, and set up the camera exactly where I am standing.”

His minions scurry to obey, adjusting everything by minute inches until the director is entirely satisfied. It is not wholly undeserved, either, since Only Strings won two Oscars and a BAFTA, amongst other things, and was Q’s first directing effort, but Q couldn't resist instilling a little more fear than was entirely necessary.

Eventually, the camera captures the blasted heath and its wizened trees exactly how Q had imagined it and the actors are allowed on set. He then sets to arranging them to his exact satisfaction and they run the scene.

By the end of a long day of correcting, editing and directing, they've caught the scene and Q is exhausted. He slouches to the front of the studio, hood up around his messy curls.

A car pulls up at the curb and he jogs through the cold evening air into the inviting warmth of the car. He grins at Bill, who sighs indulgently and turns the heating up. “Good day?”

Q nods. “How was the office?”

Bill waves a hand. “Oh, you know, won the, uh, British Office Super-Star award, but you know, I don't want to brag or anything.”

“Congratulations,” Q laughs. “The BOS award, huh? That's prestigious.”

“It's actually BOSS,” Bill says mock seriously. “Super-Star is hyphenated. Yeah, it's pretty major.”

Q leans his head on the cool glass of the window. “Sure,” he grins. “Sure.”

* * *

Bill leans back into the sofa, both hands in the air. “Glory is mine,” he slurs.

“Nooooooo,” James says, dropping his WiiMote and lying across the couch on top of Bill and Q’s laps. “I wanted it.”

Bill blows a raspberry. “Should have been better. I dunno, won a bunch of shit, and can't even play Mario Kart drunk.”

Eve giggles and accidentally hits Gareth. They don't seem to notice. “Q didn't finish his drink!” she says happily. “Chug it!”

Q groans, head flopping back into the cushions. “But that won't help my driving!” he whines.

“You seem to have entirely missed the point of Mario Kart DUI,” Gareth says.

“Which is?” James says, muffled by legs and sofa.

“The more you drink, the more you suck. Because comedy.” He cracks open another can and fills the empty glasses.

“Gareth,” Eve slurs seriously. “Why are you not drunk like we are.”

He shakes his head. “I am, trust me. I'm just acting.”

Bill prods James with his foot. “You're doing better than this famed celeb. Should give you his Oscars.”

“I'm sober!” James declares, sitting up suddenly. “I'm fine - ooh, nope, dizzy.” He lies slowly back down. “I'm going to be sober down here,” he slurs.

Q leans on Bill’s shoulder. “Who needs awards. Why are you two better at drunk things than us? We won awards. Awaaaards.”

Bill pats him none too gently on the head. Affection is, nonetheless, somehow conveyed. “When they have awards for Mario Kart, I will have them all.” Eve starts to snore. “I don't need awards when I have you.”

“Gay,” James says from somewhere around their ankles.

Gareth kicks him. “Says you.”

James laughs. “Yeah,” he says, kissing Q’s ankle and almost being kicked in the face. 

“Stop telling people you haven't talked to the person at the premiere.” Bill folds his arms. “You and Q are fine.”

“But...comedy,” James finishes lamely. Q leans down and kisses his nose. “Comedy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Didya see that?? Leaning back. Because fuckin motifs and shit. I'm so tired.


End file.
